


Hush

by arcadian_dream



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-28
Updated: 2010-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadian_dream/pseuds/arcadian_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before she, Harry, and Ron set out in search of the Horcruxes, Hermione asks Ginny to help quiet her fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush

Hushed; that was what it was, Hermione realised, as she lay awake in bed. Hushed. Quiet. Eerie. It was never this quiet at the Weasleys; never. Bubbling, and vibrant, the Burrow brimmed with life.

But not tonight.

Tonight, everything seemed to be cloaked in an almost-reverential silence, as though the house and everyone in it was suspended in a persistent state of bated breath.

Hushed.

Into this quiet, Hermione exhaled: a deep, shuddering sigh; it caught in her throat, snagged on the jagged lump that there rested, before being released in a much-too-loud sob that she had never meant to expel.

It was too much. It was all too much: too big and too scary and potentially devastating; what she, Harry and Ron were about to embark on.

There, in the dark of Ginny's bedroom, the covers hitched up to her chin and her breath coming in unsteady, faltering gasps, Hermione had never felt quite so small.

Small, and ill-fitting almost, like she wasn't quite where she was; like she never would be again. It was at that moment that Hermione heard her name, smaller even than she felt, dwarfed by the darkness, whispered to her from across the room:

“Hermione?”

She started, but could not muster a response.

“Hermione? Are you still awake.”

Nodding, her chin squashing against her chest, Hermione eventually managed to choke out a hoarse reply: “Yeah,” she said. “I'm still awake.”

As if she could be anything other on a night like this.

Hermione swallowed, determined to push down the fear inside of her, when she heard the rustle of bedclothes in the dark; and then, the quiet padding of feet, bare skin smacking softly on the timber floor.

“Gin?” she whispered.

“'m here,” Ginny replied. She was close; beside Hermione, looking over her. “D'you mind if I get in?”

Hermione shook her head. “Course not,” she said shifting over to accommodate another body, and felt the rush of cold air as Ginny peeled back the covers.

“You alright?” Ginny asked, her breath warm against Hermione's neck; warm, and sweet, and Hermione thought that if she opened her mouth and breathed deeply enough she'd almost be able to taste it , taste Ginny, on her tongue.

“Hermione?”

“Yeah … no, actually. Not – not -” Hermione started to answer, but could not complete her reply; as she lay beside Ginny, as she felt the heat radiating from her body and caught the clean, soapy scent of her skin on the air, it really _was_ all too much and Hermione, Hermione was unable to stem the tears that tumbled over her cheek and pooled on the pillow.

“Hey,” Ginny said,”hey.” She inched closer in the bed and, stroking the tear-dampened hair from Hermione's face with one hand, she rested the other on Hermione's waist, pulling her to. Hermione, suddenly desperate, frantic to take in as much of Ginny as possible, did not resist; the sheets twisted under Hermione's weight as she moved; shifting closer and closer and closer to Ginny until she felt the glancing smoothness of Ginny's bare, lean legs.

 _”Hey,”_ Ginny soothed once more, “it'll be alright, Hermione. It will.”

“You don't know that. You can't.”

“Yes, I can.” Slipping her hand under Hermione's nightshirt, Ginny placed her hand, the palm square and flat against Hermione's skin, cupping the curve of her hip. “I can. And it will. You'll see.”

Hermione closed her eyes. She wanted for Ginny to be right, but she didn't see how she could be, how _anything_ could be alright. Sniffling, Hermione buried her face against Ginny's shoulder – bare, too, save for the thin, fabric strap of her singlet top.

“Yeah,” Hermione mouthed, her lips lightly pressed to Ginny's clavicle, the tip of her tongue skimming the surface of her skin. Now, _now_ , Hermione _could_ taste her.

“Yeah,” she repeated. This time, though, Hermione pursed her lips together, and then to Ginny's skin; a kiss.

 _”Hermione”_ , Ginny exhaled as sensation of the kiss reached her. Raising a hand, Ginny cupped Hermione's jaw, determinedly drawing her gaze in the dark.

“Please, Ginny,” Hermione whispered, a plea for intimacy such as she might never know again. “Please.”

Without a word of assent, or reply, or anything at all, Ginny tilted Hermione's face up towards hers, as though towards the warmth of the summer sun, and kissed her: wetted lips tentatively touching, tongues pushing past teeth into mouths, exploratory and new.

As she and Ginny kissed, Hermione felt a tingling heat spread throughout her: from those lips that were entwined with her best friend's, trailing blazing fingers of tension down her throat down, down, down, until they were buried, grasping, deep inside of her belly; fanning out between her thighs, blooming.

Grunting, Ginny rolled on top of Hermione. She hitched her leg upwards and, easing Hermione's knees apart, Ginny pushed deeper between her legs, until her kneecap was flush against the damp cotton of Hermione's knickers. Squirming, Hermione moved against Ginny, her legs involuntarily widening as she frotted against Ginny's knee.

Stilted moans escaped Hermione's lips, tumbling from her mouth into Ginny's; signs of an unuttered but understood gratification bubbling in shared saliva, on the tips of their tongues.

Consumed by a desperate, desirous haze borne by the pervasive fear of What-Tomorrow-Might-Bring, Hermione's mouth lost its purchase on Ginny's; lips sliding, she arched back, her mouth agape and eyes shut tight. As she did, Ginny slipped her fingers into Hermione's open mouth. Subtly thrusting them against Hermione's lolling tongue, Ginny whimpered as Hermione sucked fiercely and, withdrawing her fingers, Ginny trailed them, sticky and warm, over Hermione's neck; beneath her nightshirt and over the rise of her breasts and belly, following the breathless undulations of Hermione's body before burying them beneath the hot, wet, and twisted cotton of her knickers.

Tugging Hermione's knickers to one side, Ginny ran her thumb over her slit before probing between the folds, seeking out Hermione's clitoris; finding it, Ginny watched, enthralled, as Hermione moved against her hand, wet and wanting; so desperately wanting.

Breathless, Hermione and Ginny thrust and ground and kissed and fucked and shared all that they could of one another before morning came: before the sun rose, painting the grey dawn sky with streaks of vermillion; before the anxious hush of the night gave way to the fear of tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Hermione Smut 2010.


End file.
